


Imprudent

by skydork (klismaphilia)



Series: Unsanctimonious; Victorian AU [3]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Anal Sex, F/M, Fetishized Illness, Hysteria, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Mental Breakdown, Military Background, Military Ranks, Nymphomania, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Self-Indulgent behaviors, Service Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 10:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8620585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/skydork
Summary: When Finn had first made the acquaintance of former-Brigadier General Armitage Cadolyn Huxley, he could not have been more unnerved by the man’s rigidity, his drifting eyes and shaking hands that spoke of madness. Coming to know this madness personally was a slander to them both.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Concupiscent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8612482) by [skydork (klismaphilia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/skydork). 



> This is more backstory oriented/plot-driven than the other sections, but it is absolutely VITAL to the AU as a whole.

**Imprudent**

**...**

 

When Finn had first made the acquaintance of former-Brigadier General Armitage Cadolyn Huxley, he could not have been more unnerved by the man’s rigidity, his drifting eyes and shaking hands that spoke of madness. Of course, Lord Armitage had a reputation, amongst the ground troops and other battalions as well; most had conceded that he was over-ambitious with a reigning arrogance that had also corrupted his father. Finn was never one to listen to idle chatter between the soldiers-- he much preferred to keep to himself, even among fellow troops.

 

He had been surprised when Captain Phoebe Maloret had approached him in regards to the man she now worked with. Phasma, (he had found she preferred the squadron’s name for her, as it gave her reputation a boost) was a formidable being whose skill in combat had been unrivaled even in present. Women in the military were a rarity, and mostly unheard of, but Phasma’s father had been a Knight in the service of the Queen herself, and she was an expert in modern combat. Her words about Lord Armitage (who, Finn found, she fondly referred to as ‘Hux’) were obscure and yet smattered of something that was almost more worrying than his prior ideation of the man.

 

“Speculation is one form of worry, but to have him under my watch each day is more frightening. Hux is something of a ghost; he comes and he goes, though nobody has the faintest idea as to where. I’ve caught him, on occasion, standing in a room and staring at unremarkable walls. To think he’s fallen so far since his project was annulled.” Phasma had tipped her head back, the booze carried to her mouth as she blinked, twice, slumping her shoulders.

 

“The Star-Killer?” Finn had questioned, after an indeterminate period had passed. “I never fancied the talk much, but I hear men died. The General’s men, sir.” He paused. “Is the General mad, then? I apologize if I’m imposing.”

 

“Hux has a… condition,” she answered. “None of his guard or servants seem to know the true cause, but there are… rumors. How he carries himself, the shaking, the press of his legs.”

 

Finn frowns. “The troops believed he was an opium addict.”

 

“Opium!” Phasma laughed, is if it were the funniest thing in the world. “Was it Thanisson? That man seems a factory of rumors on his own.”

 

Finn conceded; the statement was accurate.

 

“No,” Phasma continued, glancing toward their brother-in-arms who had taken residence beside them. “I feel the truth is even more shrouded than we already believe. Hux shan’t dare give away his secret, though it’s debatable he has the bearing for it anyway.”

 

And with that, the Captain pulled away from her chair, set his boots firm on the ground, and stalked off toward the hall.

 

* * *

 

 

The twenty-first division of the British Infantry had all come to know Hux in some manner or another, but the wariness of most officers was palpable. He held a certain intimidation over them though whether it was from stories of his character or his presented insanity, Finn was unsure. Still, he often found Hux as a man who drew his eyes; with his bright orange-red hair that glowed similarly to embers in a fire, his porcelain skin and the dotting of freckles on his cheeks, his clothing which seemed now even to be large on him… Hux was different.

 

Dissimilar to the others, of course, and Finn knew that too well. Though his Lordship hardly looked the type with capability to wield a gun, and his demeanor read more of an educated man or a scholar than a soldier. Finn himself knew his was an obvious affiliation; the darkness of his skin and his less-educated manner, as well as the occasional gloat and his posture were the type to scream ‘military’. (Not a first pick, many would say, but a fine one nonetheless.)

 

It seemed irrelevant that Finn had never liked the military, nor the savageness of his own companions through their training and in their respective fields. It was why he had been delegated to fix up their washrooms or reorganize the equipment rather than pair with his infantry. Though he’d never minded, he’d always gathered that sanitation wouldn’t draw unnecessary attention.

 

Finn had not been expecting Lord Armitage to ask after him.

 

“You there,” the man had inquired, sitting in a clair when he’d been ushered into an office by Phasma at some odd time of the day. Hux was leaning over his desk, sweat lining his brow and a few droplets of ink staining his once-immaculate white blouse. He hardly seemed bothered by it, however, merely raising his head to glance over Finn with a soft frown. “It is… Private Findley? Twenty-First Infantry Division, Imperial Army?”

 

“Finn, sir,” Finn had answered in kind, his attention still drawn sharp to every detail of the other’s being.

 

“Finn, as you say.” Hux paused. “I’ve observed the interactions among many of the men whom I have overseen, and you are quite an oddity. I thought, perhaps, we might have a kinship. Over… the distaste of our allies.”

 

“Distaste?” Finn questioned, alarmed. “Sir, I don’t mean to be out of line… but are you suggesting… that the others have some sort of disdain for us?”

 

“Certainly,” Hux continued. “Yes, most definitely, Finn, you’re quite intelligent. We are different, you realize? We stand out in comparison to most of the ranks; you for your skin and your reclusivity, me for my stature and failure as an officer.”

 

“Sir, I haven’t--”

 

“ _Don’t you lie to me,”_ Hux hissed, standing now. “I have seen you stare at me as I stare at you, Finn. I had reasoned that perhaps you sensed their animosity as well. Yet you would likely deign fit to call me paranoid and dismiss me as mad, would you?”

 

“No, sir, of course not--”

 

“Well then, you see? There is something.”

 

Hux had kneeled on the floor in front of him, his dark green eyes glassy, though there was a spark of something beneath the surface that Finn hadn’t the words for. Momentously, he found himself nervous; but then, Hux was simply a man, like himself, and a slight one at that. And he did have a point-- Finn was not the most universally renowned private.

 

“You’re right,” he murmured, though his mouth grew dry with the shame of the situation. And then, unbidden, Finn had blurted, “Sir, what is your condition? The reason you no longer engineer, why your hands shake? Is it--”

 

“Melancholy,” Hux responded, and the smile that lighted his face was impossibly unnerving. “Perhaps some would call it hysteria. This was the term I was given. I am… never myself, Finn. You see? I failed the Queen, the country, and my father. I often wonder if the sickness had governed me from my youth.”

 

The Lord’s hand had braced against Finn’s knee then, as he maneuvered himself nearer, his face mere centimetres from Finn’s. The officer’s breath hitched in his throat, and for a moment he believed he might choke with the proximity; had Hux called him here for…? But of course not. To do so was illegal, and Hux would be sure of that, definitely.

 

He blinked. “General, sir--”

 

“ _Call me Armitage.”_

 

“Armitage.” Finn swallowed. “Is this not inappropriate?”

 

“Given the circumstances, it’s rather the opposite.” The words seemed to spark a recognition on Hux’s face, and he stood, a disheveled figure, impossibly thin, impossibly cold. “I needed someone to help me with my disorder. The Doctor chided me to find a bedmate… I would prefer someone I could trust.” His face hovered over the juncture of Finn’s unbuttoned collar, breath warm on the shell of his ear. “Can I trust you, soldier?”

  


He really isn’t certain how it happened, and Finn is more confused that it happened to begin with. It had been a mere matter of minutes before Hux had hauled him from his seat, pulled him across the room toward the long chaise which appeared too well-maintained for such illicit activity. But before he had protested, Armitage was straddling him, and his hips were pressed flush against Finn’s, the warmth of his body somehow overwhelming.

 

Finn had only seen callousness before, and he could not fathom how quickly that opinion had changed. Hux was flushed red and his lips were slightly apart, running hands along the fabric of Finn’s uniform, from his coat to his trousers, undoing the elaborately pinned belt, leaning down enough to nuzzle his face against Finn’s shoulder.

 

“You are a creature sent from God, Private,” Armitage had murmured, his voice weak and breathless. “I need your help in recovering. Physicians are worthless where satiation is concerned; he had told me of paroxysm, of how it was a necessity, addictive, and perhaps it is.” Hux guided Finn’s hands to rest along either side of his slight waist, arching forward into the touch, amorous.

 

“Armitage, I’ve not…” Finn began, cheeks heating surreptitiously. “I’ve not been with someone like you before.”

 

“A man?” Hux questioned, laughing. “No, of course not, Finn. I don’t imagine many have. It’s quite alright, I’ve already opened myself.” His fingers were nimble in undoing his own slacks, kicking them off and climbing further into Finn’s lap, having worked the younger officer’s pants to his knees, enough to take in his half-hard cock with a breathy sigh.

 

“Well, I suppose you’ll do.” Hux murmured, tracing his hand along the shaft, thumb dipping to the slit of the head, teasing. “You need to let your trepidation go, Private. This is for a good cause. Thanks to you, I won’t have to see that bloody Kylo Ren again for weeks-- the absolute troll, a Devil of a man.” Hux sighed, continuing to pump the soldier into hardness.

 

“Who is--”

 

“The _Doctor,_ you fool. Lie back. It’ll be less work for me to ease myself.” Hux gripped his shoulders as he pressed his entrance against the tip of Finn’s erection, allowing the appendage to trace along his opening with a quiet moan, eyes shutting. “Let me take you, Private.”

 

In a fluid moment, Brigadier-General Huxley had sunk himself onto his subordinate’s girth, his expression betraying hardly an ounce of distaste, though not leaving much to be desired. He bounced, almost eagerly, at the feeling of being full once more, eyes searching Finn’s face to find the other’s lids blown wide in surprise.

 

“You’re… _tight,_ ” Finn murmured. “Is it always like this with… your… preferences?”

 

“Not in the least,” Hux purred, hands cupping Finn’s face, excited. “Dopheld was always a bit too meek to fill me right, and Phasma’s fingers were scarcely enough to work my mind away from my insanity. Ren was a beast, but a conniving one, a panderer. I hope that you will not disappoint me, Finn.” The words were punctuated with a rough smash of mouths, Hux’s tongue coaxing the younger soldier’s moist cavern open, obsessively yearning.

 

Finn found the attention surprisingly welcome; he had never had an opportunity such as this, regardless of his own longing for a partner, the joining of bodies and the heat of another’s form beside him. His thoughts had often strayed to a certain woman, a mechanic stationed near Sheffield; Rey, he thought her name was. She’d been kind enough to gift him food and water when he’d been near-collapsed from cold, taken him in and slung a blanket around his shoulders…

 

He would’ve very much liked to acquaint himself better with her.

 

And by the look in Hux’s eyes, the need and pulsating _anger,_ Finn understood that he was not the partner Hux was thinking of either. Not even as he furiously ground their bodies against each other, his own pleasure leaking along his abdomen, his hair matted to his forehead, far too long for military regulation now.

 

“I-I have lost myself, Ren, I have--” Hux whispered to the air like a madman, as Finn continued to thrust upward into his heat, hiking a pale leg to a different angle, Hux’s gasps fully presented as he seemed to jolt, hands clenched into tight fists.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” Finn murmured, though it was not directed at Armitage in the least. “ _Honest, Rey.”_

 

* * *

  


_Cure me._

 

Hux’s mind wanders, astray from his own sanity and his own conscientious revelations. The ache accumulated inside his ass seems to burrow directly through him, his head reeling with the unspoken strain.

 

It is times like these when he remembers the man who first used him; that Doctor, that _whelp of a man,_ Ren. As Hux liked to think himself impervious, he often ignores entertaining images of the strange physician for too long; yet they linger, in the forefront of his mind every so often.

 

He wishes he were stronger; he wishes that he had no need of the opinions or thoughts of others. Brendol had seemed unconcerned with his standing, though Brendol had never been the type to agonize over public opinion. He was a man of egotism as much as he was harsh-edges and callous-eyed apathy. It was his success, and his legacy, and all that was left to continue it was Armitage.

 

Hux has never considered himself something to be trifled with, but he is no Brendol. He’s weak, and wrought of abuse and shame… yet it is that very shame which so often eases his self-contempt. If it were possible, he might have asked Ren to flagellate him, press him over a table and whip his back bloody, leave him raw until his inner sick was reflected on the outside.

 

If he is already touched by the Devil, and so corrupt, then it would make no difference were he to destroy his home, his company, himself. Perhaps he should burn them alive, to see their smoldering flesh and the ash, the rubble of what was meant to be perfection and never was.

 

Nobody would care what he did. Not now-- Lord Armitage was no longer a General, but a nymphomaniac, a sycophant devoted to the religious ideation surrounding sex, desiring others to worship the temple of his body. It is wrong, of that he is certain, and yet… he no longer considers anything to be a viable alternative.

 

Even his studies, philosophies, and the work of playwrights he so avidly admires have not been a distraction from the longing of his core.

 

And this may be insanity, yes, but somehow, Hux has never felt more sane. How is it nobody sees the evidence of worthlessness throughout this country, this world? Even the soldier, the one so impossibly similar to him with his differences and his mannerisms, had not understood. If nobody would, then Hux had nothing to suffer.

 

Thoughtlessly, he reaches forward to grasp the handle of the burning lamp beside his bed, and stands to his feet.

 

* * *

 

“Did you hear about Brigadier General Huxley?”

 

The words seem to startle Finn from the reverie he’d lost himself to, and he shakes his head once, blearily rubbing the last dredges of sleep from his eyes. His demeanor has changed, recently, yet the soldiers seem to take no heed; it doesn’t matter, though, because Finn knows. He knows, and he realizes, the surrealness of it all, the evil of the world.

 

It is why he so often dreams of long, brown hair and pale cheekbones, soft eyes blinking up at him and the scent of motor oil and tea a comfort like no other.

 

Yet, in this moment, it is all too easy to remember disheveled red hair, bony ribs and shaking hands clawing marks through his back.

 

“No,” Finn admits. A shudder runs down his spine. “What happened to him?”

 

“They said he tried to burn himself alive,” Nines continues, smiling as if having unearthed a true gem in rumor. “They say it’s because he was a homosexual. That he was suffering from hysteria, as if he were a woman. It’s why they kept him locked up so frequently…”

 

“Not opium, then,” Finn answers, turning his head as if to glance back toward his pack, though his brow is furrowed, and his fingers grip at the sheets feebly. “Did he live?”

 

“A Doctor took him to the sanitarium-- the lunatic asylum.” His fellow officer shrugs, reaching down to lace up their boots. “Can’t say I’ll miss him. He was a dreadful man.”

 

 _He was merely different,_ Finn itches to reply, but instead purses his mouth in a tight line and nods. “Indeed.”

**Author's Note:**

> ~~if you feel up to pressing that kudos button, it means a lot ;)~~

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Inchoate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8637979) by [skydork (klismaphilia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/skydork)




End file.
